Darkest Before Dawn Prequel
by Twerdiest Twerd
Summary: My previous Fanfiction story Darkest Before Dawn was a scene that happened later in my book Darkest Before Dawn. This, is the First chapter of my book, and half of the Second chapter. In this you will experience baseball, school for Renesmee, and Jacob.


Chapter 1

I streaked through the dark, thick underbrush like a bullet, like a ghost. There was no sound, no evidence that my feet touched the earth; no familiar crunch of the undergrowth beneath my feet. My breathing never changed, never indicated any effort.

The forest I was running through was crowded with clusters of pine trees. It should have been too easy to collide with them, but they flew by at deadly speeds, always missing me by inches.

The cool forest air whipped against my face, making my eyes water and sting. My hair twisted and writhed around my face, tangling itself up so that it would take hours to drag out all of the knots with a brush.

I weaved around the tall, wet ferns and draping moss, around a massive hemlock tree.

And then, suddenly, it was over. For anyone else, it would have taken hours to hike through the shrubbery that had taken me only a matter of minutes to travel through.

I was standing on the edge of an enormous open field, in the lap of the Olympic peaks. It was twice the size of any baseball stadium.

I could see the others all there; Esme, Emmett and Rosalie, sitting on a bare outcropping of rock, were the closest to me, maybe a hundred yards away. Much farther out I could see Jasper and Alice, at least a quarter of a mile apart, throwing a ball back and forth between each other. The ball disappeared from one pair of hands, to the other, in single, fluid movements.

Carlisle was marking bases around the edge of the clearing.

My mom, Bella, and dad, Edward, were trading short comments to each other, and pointing at everyone on the field, so I guessed that they were picking teams.

When I came into view, the three on the rocks rose. Esme started toward us. Emmett and Rosalie followed, playfully trying to wrestle a shiny silver baseball bat out of each other's hands.

"You finally arrived," said Esme, as she approached.

"Yeah. About time," Emmett said. He had won the bat from Rosalie, and was swinging it back and forth. "We thought the storm would be over before you arrived."

"I'm sorry," I said, looking sheepishly down at my shoes. "I had homework."

Emmett pretended to look disgraced. "A poor excuse for postponing a ball game."

Alice had left her position and was running, or dancing, towards us. She hurtled to a fluid stop at our feet. "It's time to play," she announced.

As soon as she spoke, a deep rumble of thunder shook the forest beyond us.

"Eerie," said Emmett, faking a shiver, and then winking at me with easy familiarity. "Such uncanny precision."

"Let's go." Alice reached for his hand as he quickly mussed my hair, and then they darted toward the oversized field; she ran like a gazelle. He was nearly as graceful and just as fast – yet Emmett could never compare to a gazelle. Rosalie had already disappeared after them.

"Shall we go down?" Esme asked in her soft, melodic voice. I was smoothing down my hair, which was sticking up at annoying angles after Emmett's playful muss. I played with the tangled curls for a moment before I gave up, and nodded to Esme.

We walked slowly, casually, though I was itching to run, to see the field rolling out under my feet, to hold the shiny silver bat and hit the ball with all of my strength just as thunder broke and masked all sounds; as it rolled through the mountains and echoed across the sky.

But Esme seemed quite content with just walking as we were, so I kept to her pace.

"You're sure you don't want to play?" I asked. "I mean, isn't it boring? Judging the game, but never actually feeling a part of it? Never actually being judged in turn?"

Esme laughed. The sound was like bells, a sweet song, all of the good feelings in the world.

"It's hard enough keeping you all honest. You'd think you'd all been raised by a pack of wolves. But I do play sometimes. I like being positioned at the bases though – especially home base - but I have to give everyone a turn, otherwise the game's unfair – and I'm meant to be a referee, and so a level of fairness is what I'm trying to maintain in this game . . ."

"When you said we all act like a pack of wolves, you sounded just like my mom. That's a favourite phrase of hers when I leave my room untidy or when I argue with Emmett or my dad."

Esme laughed again, a little bit more heartily this time.

"Your mother means well, Renesmee. She's been through a lot, and she thinks that you're her reward for getting through it all. She tries to keep you perfect because she thinks that what you are: perfect. She loves you."

Another peal of thunder rumbled and rang through my skull.

Esme stopped. We had reached the edge of the field.

Everyone was gathered in front of my mom and dad.

"I've got Alice, Renesmee and Emmett," dad said, and then, "we bat first."

Alice and Emmett high fived and then raced over to the outskirts of the field, where they would await their turn to bat. Dad stooped to mom's height, and wrapped and arm around her waist, kissing her tenderly for a moment.

When they broke away, I caught the words, "Good luck, you'll need it," in between some others, before he ran off after the others.

"You'd better go," said Esme kindly. I started forward.

"Good luck, play fairly," she called as an afterthought, and I flashed her a quick smile before I put on more speed and raced off after everyone else.

Everyone was assembled in their positions. Emmett was standing on home base, swinging the aluminium silver bat; it whistled almost untraceably through the air. Jasper stood several feet behind him, catching for Mom's team. None of them were wearing gloves.

"All right," Esme called out in a clear voice, from where I had left her on the edge of the field. "Batter up."

Rosalie stood on the pitcher's mound, deceptively motionless. Her style seemed to be stealth rather than an intimidating windup like Emmett or Jasper preferred to use. She held the ball at her waist, and then, like the strike of a cobra, her right hand flickered out and the ball smacked into Jasper's hand.

"Strike," I heard Esme call. Jasper hurled the ball back to Rosalie's waiting hands. She permitted herself a brief grin, that flickered across her face before it disappeared, and she was all for the game again. And then her hand spun out once more.

This time the bat made it around in time to smash into the ball. The crack of the impact was shattering, thunderous; it echoed off the mountains.

The ball shot like a meteor above the field, flying deep into the surrounding forest.

Emmett was sprinting from base to base; racing around the edges of the field. I scanned the players on the opposing team: there was Rosalie, on the pitcher's mound, staring out in the direction that the ball had rocketed; mom was shadowing Emmett; Jasper was in a more relaxed position than the tense crouch he had been positioned in before - ready to catch the ball if Emmett missed the swing. I realized Carlisle was missing.

"Out!" I heard Esme call from the other side of the field. I ran my gaze over the thick line of trees bordering the field, and spotted Carlisle ball in his upraised hand, boasting a wide grin. After enjoying his moment of pride, he leaned back and launched the ball across the field.

It landed in Rosalie's hands with a resounding thud.

The inning continued before my eyes. All of my senses were focused on the game. My sight on the ball, on the players; I smelt the sweat and the clean, foggy smell of rain, tainting the air – as well as the faint scent of an animal passing by our baseball diamond; I heard the familiar thunderclap, both from the actual thunder, and from the ball connecting with the bat; I could taste the fierce determination of the opposing team, of my teammates themselves.

Finally it was my turn to bat. Our team was up by one and I stepped up to the plate.

Alice was on third base, poised and ready to push off into a mad sprint for home base. I picked up the shiny bat from the ground, where it lay after Alice had dropped it. My hands closed around its base, and I swung it out experimentally a few times while I watched Rosalie carefully. She gave me a brief nod, a small inclination of her head, and the ball struck out. I knew that my kind had fast reflexes, that we were prepared for all those things that humans took what seemed like hours to react to.

But it didn't help that Rosalie was a deadly pitcher.

I swung my bat in a helpless attempt to connect it with the ball. The sound of the ball smacking into Jasper's hand behind me, echoed throughout my head.

"Strike one!" Esme called from the other side of the field.

I scuffed at the dirt and grass around the plate, with my boots.

The ball spun out for the second time, but I didn't swing. I felt the questioning gaze from my teammates behind me, boring into my back. My hands tightened on the bat, so that my knuckles turned white with the strain of not bending the metal as I could do so easily. I just had to cling to my judgement that the ball was high. Everyone paused to look at Esme, who seemed to be tracing and then retracing the path that the ball had taken through the air and past me, with her gentle gaze.

"Strike two."

I cringed. I had been clinging to that judgement like a life preserver in this game. I released it and let the waves take me under.

Rosalie pushed the hair back from her eyes, and tucked the loose strands of her fringe back under her baseball cap.

She nodded at Jasper, and pitched.

Somehow I managed to get the bat around in time to hit the ball. I was holding the bat wrong: too tightly, my hands in the wrong position, and my swing came out jerky instead of the smooth arc it usually was. I felt the impact of the ball hitting the bat. It convulsed up to my arm and jarred it, but I had no time to think about all of my mistakes. Plenty of time to do that after the game, when I was lying on my bed, staring at the countless baseball posters on my walls, and trying to think of ways to improve my game.

Dad and Emmett were behind me, triumphantly punching the air with their fists, and rooting me on as I dropped the bat and ran.

Everyone reacted at once. Rosalie started yelling out to Carlisle to get on first base. Carlisle was already one step ahead of her, and was positioned on second base just as my feet thudded against first. I was channelling all of my concentration into not falling over. A difficult task.

Mom's head whipped round, and her gaze followed the ball as it plummeted into the forest.

Then, she disappeared after it, her dark hair blowing out behind her, writhing wildly.

She returned, breaking through the fringe of the trees, just as I hit third base.

It all went very fast after that.

Mom hurled the ball across the field to Carlisle, who ran into it and tried to race me to fourth base.

The muscles in my legs bunched up, giving me more speed, and I pushed harder, pumping my arms more fiercely. I kept looking at Carlisle out of the corner of my eye. He was not far behind me, and he was running with as much power as I was.

So I slid. That was my only choice. He saw me tense, ready to spring. I fell to the ground, pushing my legs out to touch the base at the same time as Carlisle jumped, trying to stop my home run.

When we collided, the sound was like the crash of two massive falling boulders. A cloud of dust and dirt was thrown up, obscuring my view of everyone else, including Carlisle, though I could feel his elbow crushed up against the arm that I had jarred, and his knee was digging into my side.

I began pushing the hair back from my eyes so that I could see.

"Safe," Esme declared.

I let the hair fall back over my face. And I smiled.

The game continued. I changed my tactics after my first bat. Instead, I played intelligently, keeping the ball low, out of the reach of mom's always-ready hand in the outfield, gaining as many bases as I could before someone could get the ball back in play.

I stood in the outfield when the other team batted. Fielding had never been my strong point in a baseball game, but I was fast, light on my feet, and I had a strong throw, so I was ideal for hurling myself into the forest after the ball.

The score constantly changed as the game continued, and we razzed each other like any street ballplayers as we took turns with the lead. Occasionally Esme would call us to order, but usually she just smiled and called for the next batter.

The thunder rumbled on, but we stayed dry, just as Alice had predicted in the third inning, when Rosalie was getting paranoid about rain.

Carlisle knocked one so far out of the field – with a boom that echoed in my head – that he and mom both made it in. Rosalie slapped them dainty high fives.

When it came to mom's turn to hit, she followed the way that I kept the ball low and it rocketed out across the field. I was astonished by the force, the smooth swing, the sleek power. Mom made it to third base before Esme called the hit as an out. Like a whisper on the wind, suddenly dad was suddenly standing next to her, his hand fisted around the ball, a crooked smile on his face. He playfully mussed her hair, as Emmett had mussed mine, and then threw the ball across to Alice.

When the last ball was hit, and the last out was called, the sun was close to falling behind the peaks of the mountains.

When I finally arrived home, the light had faded and shrouded everything in a dark cloak.

After using the spare key that was hidden under the eaves, to unlock the door, I stumbled along the hallway in the dark, knocking my shins and my jarred arm against invisible objects in the gloom. I ran my hands along the walls, feeling the smooth plaster and the rough ridge of a crack that had grown larger over time.

I stumbled again, nearly falling to the floor, but I caught myself before I grazed my knees. I found the light switch, though it took me a moment to turn it on.

The black emptiness was suddenly replaced by the warm yellow colour of the walls beneath my hands, and the dark, sturdy floorboards beneath my feet. An old table up against the wall, and a coat rack in the corner. A ceramic dish for the house and car keys, and a picture of dad with his arms wrapped around mom, while I stood in front of them, smiling obediently for the camera.

I kicked off my dirt-streaked boots and hung my jacket and baseball cap on the coat rack, and then headed towards the communal bathroom to clean myself up after the game, flicking on lights as I walked.

I looked at my face in the mirror as I brushed through my hair. I had my mom's eyes and my dad's hair. Maybe it was the light, but I looked sallow, unhealthy. My eyes were a deep brown, instead of the buttery gold or deep black colour they should have been, and their brightness contrasted with my skin, making it look even paler. My skin could be pretty – it was very clear, almost translucent-looking – but it all depended on colour.

I didn't sleep well that night. The constant _whooshing _of the rain and wind across the roof wouldn't fade into the background. I pulled the faded purple quilt over my head, and later added the pillow, too. But I couldn't fall asleep until after midnight, when the rain finally settled into a quieter drizzle.

Thick fog was all I could see out my window in the morning, when I opened the curtains in the vain hope that sunshine would spill out into my room.

I showered, and then changed out of my sweatpants and holey T-shirt.

My parents were gone, as was their custom; they knew that I didn't mind being left alone, that I could take care of myself.

I sat at the old square oak table in one of the three wooden chairs and examined the small kitchen, with its dark panelled walls, white cabinets, and wooden floor. My mother had just recently painted the cabinets, attempting to make the cottage feel more open and lived in. Over the small fireplace in the adjoining family room was a row of pictures. First a wedding picture of my mom and dad at Carlisle and Esme's house, then one of the three of us on the porch of the cottage not long after I was born, followed by the procession of individual pictures of the people in my family.

Despite my lack of sleep, I had woken quite early, and though I didn't want to be too early to school, I pulled on my jacket and headed out into the rain,

It was drizzling still, and the only sounds I could hear on this quiet morning, was the dull sound of the rainfall, and the sloshing of my boots when I accidentally stumbled across a puddle – and there were a lot of puddles.

I ran the last few minutes to Carlisle and Esme's house, and though I would have liked to admire my Land Rover – which was sitting in the middle of the driveway, cleaned by last night's rainfall– I was in a hurry to get out of the misty wet that swirled around my head and clung to my hair under my hood.

Inside the Land Rover, it was nice and dry. The engine started quickly, purring quietly, and snarling when I revved the engine experimentally. I turned on the radio to the local station, and started backing out of the driveway.

When I had been new to Forks High School, it had not been obvious that it was a school. It was only the sign, which declared what it was, that had made me stop the Land Rover and wonder frantically whether I had missed the parking lot. The high school looked like a cluster of matching houses, built with maroon-coloured bricks. It was surrounded by a number of different trees and shrubs, all coated with bright green moss.

I found a parking space in the student lot and cut the engine, then stuffed my car keys into my bag, and slung the strap over my shoulder.

I was reluctant to climb out of the toasty cab, and feel the fog clinging to my skin again. I tightened the hood of my jacket, as I walked along the sidewalk, crowded with teenagers.

I walked around the back of the cafeteria, trying to avoid total human contact, and then towards a building with a black painted 6 on it.

This was my fourth week as a student at Forks High School. Population: three hundred and fifty-three. It had only been a month since Carlisle had decided that I had stopped growing at such an accelerated rate, and that I was, now, immortal, never-ageing, just like the rest of my family.

Though I hadn't gone unnoticed on my first day of school, as I would have liked, I was fitting in reasonably well, which shocked me more than anyone else. Because, I've never related well to people. Sometimes I wondered if I was seeing the same things through my eyes that the rest of the world was seeing through theirs.

So that was the reason why I was so surprised when someone approached me. When the bell rang to end my first class on my first day of school, a lanky boy with a coating of freckles and a shock of red hair and pale skin jogged up to me as I left the Government Classroom.

"You're Renesmee Cullen, aren't you?" He was frowning slightly, as if he wasn't sure that that was the way my name was pronounced. He looked like the overly-helpful type. I studied his complexion before I spoke. It looked as if my skin wouldn't stand out as much as I had thought it would.

"Ness," I corrected him, finally. Everyone within a three-metre radius turned to look at me.

"Where's your next class?" he asked.

I had to check the timetable that I'd been given that morning. "Um, English with Mr. Mason in building three."

There was nowhere to look without meeting curious eyes.

"I'm headed towards building four, I could show you the way . . ." Definitely over-helpful. "I'm Sam," he added.

I tried a smile, and failed miserably. "Thanks."

We stepped out from the cover of building six, and out into the rain, which had picked up. I could have sworn several people behind us were close enough to eavesdrop. I hoped I wasn't getting paranoid.

"So," Sam said, with his head bent so that it wouldn't get blasted with a flurry of raindrops. "What was your old school like? Did you go to school in Port Angeles?"

I'd prepared my story already. "No. I was homeschooled, actually," I lied, trying to sound casual about it.

"Why was that?" he asked. I didn't have an answer for that.

"Personal reasons," I improvised, and hoped that would quench his curiosity. I think he saw that I was unwilling to tell him much more and so he shrugged.

"Oh, alright," he mumbled.

We walked around the gym to the north buildings by the cafeteria. Sam walked me right to the door, though it was clearly marked.

"Well, good luck," he said as I touched the cool metal of the door handle. "Maybe we'll have some other classes together." He sounded hopeful.

This time I succeeded in a small smile, and went inside.

The rest of the morning had passed in the same fashion. After two classes I had started recognising some of the faces. There was always someone braver than the others who would introduce themselves and ask me questions about how I was liking the school.

One girl sat next to me in both Trig and Spanish, and she walked with me to the cafeteria for lunch. She frequently reminded me that her name was Molly when she wasn't prattling on about teachers and classes. We sat at the end of a full table with several of her friends which she introduced to me. I forgot all their names as soon as she spoke them. They all seemed impressed by her bravery in speaking to me. The boy who had walked me to English, Sam, waved at me from across the table.

So there I was, sitting in the lunchroom, trying to make conversation with six curious strangers, and here I was now, making my way through the crowd of students in the rain, as if I'd been doing that my whole life.

Though I was very much accustomed to life at Forks High School, I still tried to remain unnoticed, which, despite the fact that I was enduring my third week of attendance at the high school, still seemed to be extremely difficult. I was still a topic of discussion, and though I didn't receive as many curious stares, I was still given special treatment because I was new. And it's hard to hide when you're getting given special treatment.

I still needed my timetable, but I didn't need my map anymore. Even if this were my first day, I wouldn't have needed a map; I had so many people offering to walk me to and from class. I paused in the middle of the sidewalk, trying to shield my timetable from the rain. I was meant to be in building four for Trigonometry, which was a class I disliked. I disliked Mr. Varner as well. He was the only teacher who had made me stand in front of the entire class and tell everyone about myself on my first day. I had stuttered and mumbled and tripped over my own boots on the way back to my seat.

I half-ran down the sidewalk and towards building four. The light mist of rain was now thrumming against the tin roofs of the school buildings.

It was warm inside the classroom, and I hung my jacket up on a row of wooden pegs before I took a seat. I chose to sit next to a porcelain-skinned girl with red-rimmed glasses and blonde hair. She was part of Lauren's crowd, and we'd spoken briefly. I recalled that her name was Grace, and my first impression of her had been that she seemed quite shy and liked reading, because at our crowded table in the cafeteria, she was always leafing through books while she listened to the conversation.

"Oh, Ness, hi," she said, looking up from another book as I took my seat.

"Hi, Grace," I said. There was a pause as I took my Trig homework out of my bag. "What are you reading?" I asked, curious. She lifted the book to show me the cover, and though the title was unfamiliar, I nodded. She smiled briefly, and we traded a few short comments on the weather – which was wet – and that was pretty much it for conversation.

I headed straight to my locker after Biology, later that morning. It was down the far end of the school, near the Gym, and I could hear the squeak of shoes on the basketball courts coming through the door. I rifled through my bag and put away my Trig notes, and my Biology folder, and then sorted through the books and folders and papers in my locker, until I'd found what I would need for my afternoon classes.

"Renesmee?" a male voice asked. I hit my head on the door of my locker as I turned around. A boy with a gentle expression and dark brown hair, carefully gelled into orderly spikes, was leaning against the locker next to me.

"Ness," I corrected him, rubbing the spot where I had hit my head. He smiled. I recognised him. He was one of the many people who had walked me to class during my first week of school. He occasionally sat at my table in the lunchroom, and I knew that Lauren hung on to every word he spoke.

"I'm Ethan," he said when he saw that I didn't recall his name.

"Hi Ethan."

I remembered now. He had walked me to Spanish, and had told me lots of cheesy jokes. He had been the nicest person I had met that day.

We walked to the cafeteria together; it was coming back to me that he was a chatterer. He supplied most of the conversation, which made it easy for me.

He asked me a few questions, though, about my unique name and what being homeschooled was like and who I was sitting with in the cafeteria.

He was friendly and I liked him. He seemed like someone that I could easily get along with.

I sat between Grace and Ethan in the cafeteria, picking at the food on the tray in front of me, but never actually eating any of it. Across the table from me, Molly was chatting to a sallow, red-headed girl named Courtney, who didn't seem to like me – if the fact that she often gave me acidic glares was any indication of that; Ethan was arm-wrestling a burly boy named Ryan, who, despite his muscular build, always spoke to me in a soft, gentle voice; Sam was telling me a cheesy joke, laughing uncontrollably before he'd even told me the punch line; beside me, Grace was lost deep in the pages of a book – and it wasn't the one that she'd been reading when I'd seen her in Trig.

Sitting there, seeing the six friendly faces around me (six if you counted Courtney) I felt accepted, a feeling I rarely crossed paths with. And, knowing that, I knew that the feeling wouldn't last for long. Something would come along that one half of me would want to respond to, but the other half wouldn't. Because I was two halves, and never the whole. There was no name for what I was, but my family referred to me as one of them, but no matter how many times it was said, it couldn't come true.

I'm not human, but I'm not a vampire, because I posses the qualities of both.

I have supernatural speed and strength, but I am not extremely graceful or well balanced. My skin is pale, but soft, and feverish in temperature. I feed on blood, but my eyes do not change colour, and my bite has no venom. When I stand in the sunlight, I sparkle, but only faintly. I had been growing at an accelerated pace up until last month, when I was finally declared immortal.

But no matter how much I looked at the human faces around me, no matter how many times I listed my human characteristics and told myself that I was fitting in, the same question still remained: what was I?

Chapter 2

The next day was Friday. It didn't rain, though the clouds were dense and grey. Ethan came to sit by me in Biology and walked me to my next class, with Sam glaring at him all the while. I sat with the same big group at lunch and picked at my pizza while Grace and I discussed our English assignment. Over the course of the past few weeks I had begun to feel as if I were treading water instead of drowning in it.

Mr Varner called on me in Trig when my hand wasn't raised and I had the wrong answer. We played volleyball and I hit the ball into the back of Courtney's head, giving her reason to scowl at me. I tripped on my way to my seat in Spanish, dropping my books all over the floor, which sent a spasm of giggles rippling through the class.

When the school day was finally done, and the blush was fading from my cheeks after the volleyball incident, I walked swiftly out to the parking lot. It was now crowded with fleeing students. I got in my Land Rover and dug through my bag to make sure I had what I needed.

Seeing as I wasn't very socially active, I generally didn't have much to do, so a few months ago, I had requested that I be assigned to the grocery shopping. So I had my shopping list and the cash from the jar in the cupboard labelled GROCERY MONEY, and I was on my way to the Thriftway.

I gunned the Land Rover's engine to life, and backed out of the lot and onto the road.

The Thriftway was not far from the school, just a few streets south, off the highway.

It was nice to be inside the supermarket, and I fell into the pattern of the familiar task gladly. I passed down the aisles, grabbing shampoo, tissues, and toothpaste, off the many shelves. I picked up some food as well, on my way to the checkout – but not for my parents, for me. I had a preference for blood, but I didn't mind _some_ human foods. I liked chocolate and potatoes and avocados and orange juice, and I didn't mind the taste of olives and coffee and pasta.

I unpacked the groceries when I got home, stuffing them in the kitchen cabinets.

All the time I'd spent after school doing homework had meant a pile of things I'd been neglecting - like chores. And so, because I'd finished my English assignment – the one that wasn't due until next week - that was what I decided to do. I was sure my mom would be pleased to come home to a clean and organised house.

The bathroom showed the most signs of neglect, so I started there. While I worked, I mulled over the day's events, trying to decide to brand the day as the good or bad sort. I listed all of the positive things as I mopped the tiles, and the negative things as I replaced the shampoo with a new bottle, and disposed of the old one. I was literally up to my elbows in Comet, scrubbing the bathtub, when the doorbell rang.

I dropped the sponge in the sink and started rinsing my arms off.

"Hold on!" I yelled in the general direction of the door as I dried my hands. I sprinted down the hallway and opened the door.

A boy was standing on the porch, leaning against the wall. Behind him, on the dirt track leading up to the house, was a black motorbike. The boy had glossy ebony hair that stuck up in some places, and hung over his eyes in others; his skin was beautiful, smooth and russet-coloured; his eyes were dark, set deep above the high planes of his cheekbones; he was tall – too tall for a boy his age; when he smiled, his teeth were white against his skin. His name was Jacob Black.

"Hey," he said. His voice was deep, and the ends of some of his words were clipped off when he spoke. "I'm glad you're here," he added, smiling crookedly at me.

"Hey, Jacob," I said, grinning. Jacob was my closest friend – sort of like the big brother I never had. "Come in," I added, quickly stepping out of the doorway so that he could come inside.

He followed me into the kitchen, and sat down at the table, examining his surroundings.

"Do you want something to eat?" I asked as I opened the fridge door.

"Just a drink, Ness," he said.

I didn't know what he wanted, but I knew despite the small selection of food we had in the cabinets and fridge, he would eat anything he was given.

I made two cups of coffee before sitting down next to him.

"So," I said, breathing in the aromatic scent of the coffee, "what's up?"

He was stirring his drink with a spoon. It looked so small in his big hands. He probably could have bent the metal if he had wanted to.

"I came by to see how you were going."

"Fine," I said, downing some of the aromatic coffee and burning my tongue. I held the warm mug in my hands.

"How's school been? Have you made any friends?"

"Um, that's fine as well. I have a few classes with a girl named Lauren. I sit with her friends at lunch. And there's this boy, Ethan, who's very friendly. Everybody seems pretty nice." With Lauren as the one exception.

"That must be Ethan Newton," he said. "Your Mom used to be friends with his older brother, Mike."

"I think I remember Mike," I said. "He came to congratulate Mom on my birth. He came with a blonde girl named Jessica. They both seemed nice enough."

"His parents run a sporting goods store just outside of town, on the edge of the reservation. They make a good living off all the backpackers who come through here. I think it's called Olympic Outfitters," he informed me. This news horrified me more than it excited me; I wasn't the outdoorsy type, and it would be tough turning down Ethan if he offered to take me hiking or camping.

My skin crawled at the thought of hiking – a potential death trap for people with my lack of balance. The last time I had gone hiking, I had returned home with shallow scrapes on my palms and the knees of my jeans were green – and I had been attempting to be careful. Jacob smiled at my disinterest in the Newtons' sporting goods store.

"In fact, why don't we go camping together?" he teased. I shook my head.

"Camping? Not the best idea for me. Any activity that requires me to be outdoors for an extended period of time is generally out of my range of abilities."

He grinned wolfishly at me. "Speaking of your range of abilities, how's Gym?"

I groaned, burying my head in my arms.

It wasn't just my lack of balance that made Gym a nightmare for me; it was also the fact that I didn't particularly enjoy the concept. I was fine with baseball, because it involved very little physical contact, which made it relatively safe for me, but if someone put me on a volleyball court or a soccer field, my clumsiness would get the better of me.

"Killed anyone yet?" Jacob teased, his attractive face filled with laughter.

"Close enough," I muttered, my cheeks burning, as I turned red. He raised his eyebrows. "I hit a ball into the back of a girl's head today, during volleyball."

He laughed at my ashamed expression, at the guilt written across my face, and that made me feel a little better. "And have you suffered any injuries yourself, today?" he asked.

I had a bruise on my thigh from tripping in Spanish, and scrapes on my palm from frequently stumbling on the pavement, made slippery by the ever-constant rain.

"I've had worse," I said, shrugging as I traced the light pink scrapes with the tip of my finger.

"I'm curious though," Jacob said, trying hard to hide his smile, "that someone who should possess supernatural grace, can't accomplish walking across a clear, even surface without finding something to fall over."

My face flushed, making it harder for him to disguise his obvious amusement. "Well, I received different qualities from each of my parents, and I suppose one of my stronger human qualities happened to be a lack of balance," I countered.

Jacob shook his head and leaned towards me. "You're a magnet for accidents, Ness," he said. "If there is anything dangerous within a ten-mile radius, in will invariably find you."

"I can take perfect care of myself," I said.

Before Jacob could retort, a sharp noise cut through the room, making me start.

"It's my Dad," he said, checking his phone. "I'll be right back." He went to the window, head down, voice to low to overhear.

I occupied myself with the task of clearing the table; taking my time to rinse and dry the mugs before finding a place for them in the cabinets. Eventually Jacob, folding his phone, approached me. "I have to go," he said, "I hope you aren't too lonely while I'm gone."

"That's okay," I said. "I don't really mind being alone. And besides, I have heaps of washing waiting for me upstairs."

We walked down the corridor, its walls boasting colourful abstract paintings of my mother's, before stopping in the front doorway.

"I'll try and see you as soon as I can," said Jacob, looking reluctant to leave.

"Cool," I said, reaching for the doorknob.

"Bye."

"Bye."

I began closing the door, but he caught it and pushed it open again.

"Oh, and Ness?"

"What?"

"Be safe."

"No fear," I said sarcastically, wrinkling my nose. "I'll probably fall in the washing machine tonight while I'm doing the laundry."

He chuckled, ignoring my sarcasm. "With you, Ness," he said, grinning, "it could happen."

That night I couldn't get to sleep – which was disappointing, because it was a very rare night when rain wasn't hammering down on the roof, keeping me awake.

12


End file.
